Tantalising Tales from my Shoe Cabinet
As a voracious collector of all things eclectic, I have long been fascinated by the history of The Wunderkammer. All the rage in Europe in the 1500’s, cabinets of curiosity could consist of whole rooms filled with exotic wonders illustrating their owner’s worldly knowledge and wealth. Fossils, shells, taxidermy, scientific instruments, strange specimens, exotic and erotic antiques, and tribal treasures laid within. Every exhibit had a colourful story to tell – a curated timeline of adventures and experiences. My personal Wunderkammer comes in the form of my shoe cabinet…showcasing my otherworldly escapades through my sublime collection of designer stilettos.
Beyond the glass doors, amidst the scent of leather, perfume and polish lies a history in heels. A frenzy for any foot fetish aficionado. Daggers in disguise, ready to impale and penetrate. Soles that steal souls with a cannibalistic snarl. Stilettos which entice and ultimately entrap. Heels that get glances, heels that get stares. Some prowl. Some pounce. Some trample in a sadistic stampede. Some shine like the silken feathers of a royal raven. Black leather. Blood red soles. Each pair has a signature siren call, an undeniable power and irresistible allure.
My first and most treasured pair of designer stilettos reside here. Faithful companions as I made my way in the Mistress world, precious extensions of my divine power and sexuality. I first spied these shoes in the boutique window on a winter’s day in Knightsbridge – classic Christian Louboutin So Kate 120 pumps. Glossy patent leather, signature pointed toe, a pin-thin stiletto heel and an arch as dramatic and breath-taking as the price tag. As I slid my foot inside I felt as though a prophecy has been fulfilled. A true foot fetishist would surely dive from the highest cliff into the shallowest pool below to devour their undulating curves. So a month’s rent seemed like a relatively small price to pay. I left with the stiff brown bag swinging from my arm, a bright smile on my lips and a slight sinking feeling that I’d been terribly irresponsible. Surely me and my stilettos could achieve anything though? Everything perhaps? All great journeys start with a single step, and mine were made in the finest heels imaginable.
Foot Fetish Fairytales
Moving on, let me introduce you to my ‘Hello’ heels. I forget which continent I was on at the time, but I was definitely perched on a velvet bar stool in an outrageously decadent hotel. I consciously let my peep-toe heel dangle from my foot, red nail polish peeking from within. The sweetest temptation, the tastiest bait. I reminisced about so many cruel games I’ve played with my foot slaves…teasingly revealing just a hint of my feet, permitting them to come ever-so-close before swiftly slipping my shoes back on. If a kiss has somehow been stolen, then of course punishment swiftly ensues.
‘Hello. I’d love to buy you a drink,’ came the voice from behind. ‘And your shoes too.’
‘Excuse me?’ Such confidence in one’s fetish is admirable indeed but this was beyond brazen. ‘Well I’d love a glass of champagne, but my shoes are most definitely not for sale,’ I smiled.
The saucer-eyed stare of a subject entranced and hypnotized looked back at me. His tongue twitching, his lips (and no doubt destinations further south) tingling with desire and desperation.
‘You can admire them. That’s what they’re there for. But these shoes leave with me.’
‘Name your price.’
‘Well that’s your problem. They’re priceless. As are the feet within.’ And with that I finished my last drop of champagne, slipped them back into place and took my leave. Feeling his desperation follow me, the lift opened as if on cue and I vanished inside.
Now my final tale will take us to the dance floor. Can you keep up? These vertiginous shoes danced in an enchanted castle until the clock struck midnight. And then…they danced some more. Surrounded by towering turrets, a silent black moat, chandeliers sparkling above like decadent disco balls…this was the epitome of a fairytale. Six of my favourite Mistress friends, and my collared slave accompanied me in this most magical celebration which commenced with vintage corks popping in a dining room fit for the Queen and finished with fireworks which shattered the dark sky beyond. Soles scuffed, heels sore, at dawn I kicked them off and fell into a four-poster bed, the sheets scattered with rose petals. What can I say, Mistress life can be tough at times.
Oh how I’d love a whole room in which to house my heels. Revolving compartments, and floor-to-ceiling mirrored shelves lit-up and down like a museum display. And a separate cage compartment for my shoe slave of course, assigned with the never-ending task of polishing and perfecting. Now that’s a Wunderkammer truly worth having.